The Red Wyvern: Book One of the Dragon Mage (12 page)

“Oh please!” Abrwnna wrinkled her nose. “You don’t have to pretend around me. We all know who really rules the kingdom.”

A page was approaching. Bevyan laid a warning finger across her lips.

“Your Highness?” the boy said. “The meal is ready.”

“Very well.” Abrwnna rose and nodded his way. “Shall we go, my ladies?”

While they ate, with the pages hovering around in attendance, Abrwnna kept the conversation to court gossip. Her maidservants supplied her with every scrap of scandal in the dun, apparently, to augment what she gleaned herself. She ran through various love affairs or the possibility of them as if she were reciting the lists for a tournament.

“So you can see, Bevva,” Abrwnna finished up, “all sorts of things happened this winter while you were gone.”

“Indeed,” Bevyan said. She reminded herself to tell Peddyc about this use of her nickname. “Long winters do that to people, and with so many widows sheltering here under your protection, I suppose things might get a bit complicated.”

“Very, and I haven’t told you the best bit yet. Lady Merodda’s brother was the biggest prize of all. The regent might as well be a nice fat partridge, for all the hawks that are set upon him.”

Merodda, who was buttering bread, smiled indulgently.

“Well, Your Highness,” Bevyan said. “He has access to the king, and that does make a man attractive.”

“Just so. The worst thing happened though. It was right before the thaw. Two of the court ladies were fighting over Burcan, just like dogs fighting over scraps of meat. It was Varra and Caetha.”

“Caetha? I’d heard she left us for the Otherlands.”

“She did, and here’s the thing. It looked like she was gaining the regent’s favor—everyone said he was much taken with her—when suddenly she died. Everyone said Varra poisoned her, it was so sudden. And then Varra left court and went home to her brother, which makes me think she really did do it.”

“Oh, my dear liege!” Merodda looked up with a little shake of her head. “I doubt that very much. Here—it was at the bitter end of winter, and we all know what happens then to the food, even in a king’s dun.” She glanced at Bevyan. “The poor woman died after eating tainted meat. It was horrible.”

“But she’s not the only one who ate it.” Abrwnna leaned forward. “Merodda had some, too.”

“And, Your Highness, I was quite ill.” Merodda shuddered as if at the memory. “Caetha wasn’t strong enough to recover, I’m afraid. It happens.”

“Indeed, it does happen, and a sad sad thing,” Bevyan said. “There’s really no need to talk about poisoning people.”

And yet, despite her sensible words, Bevyan found herself wondering about Merodda’s herbcraft. If she could wash her face with ill-smelling water and keep her skin as smooth as a lass’s, what other lore did she know? No doubt the queen had no idea that poor dead Caetha’s real rival had been Lord Burcan’s sister.

Since it was the queen’s pleasure to ride, the women returned to the dun late in the afternoon. Side by side Merodda and Bevyan walked into the great hall, where the men were already congregating for the evening meal. They watched the queen and her maidservants flit through the crowd like chattering birds and chase each other, giggling, up the stone staircase. Bevyan could just see on the landing a handful of young lords, each marked as a member of the queen’s fellowship by a twist of green silk around their right sleeve. They bowed to the ladies and walked with them up the stairway and out of sight.

“Bevva?” Merodda said suddenly. “You don’t suppose Abrwnna has a lover, do you?”

“It’s one of my fears, truly. She talks of little else.”

“Just so. Being married to a child is a difficult thing for a lass like her.”

They exchanged a grim glance, for that moment at least allies.

Later that evening, Bevyan remembered to ask Lilli about the lady Caetha in the privacy of her suite. Lilli repeated the story of the tainted meat and added that Caetha had died clutching her stomach in agony.

“How terrible!” Bevyan said. “I take it that your mother was ill as well.”

“She was. She’d eaten from that same meat.” Lilli considered with a small frown. “But she wasn’t anywhere as ill as poor Caetha, though she threw up ever so much and told us all how much pain she was in.”

“That’s an odd way of putting it, dear. Do you think she wasn’t in pain?”

“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Lilli laid a pale hand at her throat. “She was; of course she was. It was awful to hear her moan and not be able to do anything for it.”

“No doubt. You poor child! Well, I’m so sorry about poor Caetha.”

“Oh, indeed. We all were.”

Yet once again Bevyan wondered.

Often over the next few days Lilli found herself drawn back to her mother’s chamber and Brour. She felt as if she were living the lives of two different girls. In the afternoons, she would sit and sew with Bevyan and the other women, talking over the news of the royal dun while the embroidery grew thick on the pieces of Braemys’s wedding shirt. But in the morning, she would watch her mother to get some idea of Merodda’s plans, and once they were established—a country ride, perhaps, or a session in the queen’s chambers—Lilli would slip upstairs for a lesson. Oddly enough, Brour always seemed to know that she was coming and would be waiting for her.

“Is that dweomer?” she demanded one morning. “The way you know I’m coming?”

“It’s not. I
am
your mother’s scribe, after all. She tells me when she’ll be occupied, and then I assume you’ll be coming up here. Although, to tell you the truth, sometimes I worry about her laying a trap for us, like.”

“So do I. But today I know she’s gone with the queen to the temple down in the city, so she should be busy for a fair long while.”

“Good.” Brour considered, tapping his fingers on the closed book. “I’ve got a thing of great import to tell you. Repeat back to me what I told you about the Wildfolk.”

“They are creatures of the Sphere of the Moon as we are of the Earth. They have eyes that see and ears that hear but not true wits. The dweomermaster can command them at will but should never trust them.”

“Excellent! And what of the Lords of the Elements?”

“They, too, are spirits, but of the Spheres of the Planets. They have the beginnings of true wits and thus are wily and hard to command.”

“Well done again. You have a fine mind, lass.”

Lilli blushed.

“What I’m thinking of doing,” Brour went on, “is the evocation of one of the Lords of Earth. There’s a thing I need to find, buried in the earth around this dun. I’ve asked here and there among the servants and the retainers, but no one knows where it lies.”

“What is it?”

“Haven’t you ever thought it odd that this dun doesn’t have a bolthole, a way out in case of siege?”

“You mean it doesn’t?”

“Not so as anyone remembers. And yet I’ve looked over the chronicles of the kings, as the bards and the priests have kept them. This war’s raged a long time, a hundred years and more, and as will happen in a war, the fortunes ebb and sway. There were times back in the early days when it looked black indeed for the true king here in Dun Deverry, times when one usurper or another had this city sieged. And each time the king disappeared from the dun and just like dweomer turned up in the Boar’s own city of Cantrae, where he could rally his loyal men and ride back with an army to lift the siege.”

“Was it dweomer, then?”

“I doubt it very much.” Brour smiled briefly. “I think there was a bolthole, some underground way out of this dun, and it must surface a fair distance from the city, too. Doubtless it was a well-kept secret, and it may have been too well kept. It seems to have died with the last king to use it, and that was fifty years and more ago.”

“If you could find it again, then you’d have the king’s favor for a certainty. I’ll bet Uncle Burcan would be ever so pleased.”

“No doubt. So much so that I’m going to ask you to keep this a secret. Your uncle hates me, and I want to win him round, you see. I don’t want someone else running to him first.”

“I’ll keep it secret, I promise.”

“My thanks, lass. Now, let me tell you what we’re going to be doing. The best time for this ritual is in the dark of night, but we’ll need to practice it first.”

“I get to help?”

“You do indeed. You’ll have to slip out and join me once I find a place where it’s safe to study it. But pay attention now. There are many strange things you need to learn.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a few moments to ourselves, love,” Peddyc said. “When we’re both awake.”

“So am I,” Bevyan said. “I’ve stationed Sarra in the antechamber for a sentinel.”

He laughed and sat down in the chair opposite hers. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and fell across them, a golden blanket. Peddyc yawned and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“You look weary,” she said.

“I am that. I’ve spent the afternoon with our Burcan. That’s enough to weary any man. At least good news is coming in. None of the northern lords have gone over to the Usurper. They’ll hold firm while the border holds.”

“And how long will that be?”

Peddyc shrugged.

“For this summer at least,” he said finally. “Hendyr’s become important. I find myself being courted.”

“Ah. That’s interesting.”

“Well, ours is the last big dun on the border to the west of here. The king’s forces have to hold it. If it falls to the enemy, then Prince Maryn can outflank us and start moving into the northlands.”

“Prince Maryn? I’ve never heard you call him that before.”

Peddyc winced.

“A foolish slip, my love. May the gods keep me from doing it in front of Burcan.” He hesitated for a long moment. “Well, Maryn’s a prince over his own lands, no matter what anyone of us think of his claim to the throne of Deverry.”

“Pyrdon—just so.”

They fell silent, considering each other, considering—Bevyan supposed—just how much it was safe to say aloud, even in the privacy of their chambers.

“I’d best get back.” Peddyc rose and glanced toward the window. “The sun’s getting low, and there’s to be yet another council of war.”

“When will the army march?”

“I’ve no idea. Soon. It will have to be soon, or we’ll find the Usurper at our gates.” He paused to rub his face with both hands. “Gwerbret Daeryc brought that up this afternoon. Burcan said that he was waiting for more messages from the Northlands. One of the younger lords took offense for some reason, and everything turned into wrangling. A lot of pounding on the table and reminding each other of our rank.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Oh, it was. I’m of two minds, my love. You know how I feel about the regent as a man, but he’s the only leader we’ve got or are going to have. And without a leader, we’re all—” He paused for a long moment. “Well, I’d best be gone. No doubt I’ll be back late tonight, but if you’re awake, I’ll tell you what decision we’ve reached.”

“My thanks. Queen Abrwnna has asked me to join her women tonight after the meal, so I may have gossip to tell you.”

“Good. It gladdens my heart to see you in her favor.”

“Is it her favor? Or are we being watched?”

Peddyc considered, his head tilted a bit to one side.

“Well,” Bevyan went on. “You’ve just told me how important Hendyr is. I keep thinking of the dinner we had in Lord Camlyn’s dun, and I wonder how skilled Daeryc is at hiding what his heart feels.”

“Not very.” Peddyc gave her an ironic smile. “You speak very true, my love. I hadn’t thought of that. There are times when Daeryc looks at the regent, and the look on his face—you’d think he’d bitten into rotten meat.”

“Just so. I’ve seen it. And Daeryc is our overlord. If they suspect him, won’t they suspect you?”

Peddyc nodded, thinking.

“My thanks for the warning,” he said at last. “I need your sharp eyes. I’ll do my best to act the loyal vassal around Burcan, then, and I just might have a private caution for his grace Daeryc, too.”

Although Bevyan was undoubtedly rising in the queen’s favor, as yet she hadn’t been invited to eat at the royal women’s table. Her usual bench stood close enough to the queen, however, for her to watch Abrwnna and her women as they sat giggling together over their meat and bread. Not far away, though at enough distance for propriety, the queen’s fellowship shared a table while immediately behind them sat the sons of various high-ranking nobility, Anasyn among them. Bevyan enjoyed watching her son, grown so tall and strong, taken into the company of his peers. She had tried over the years to distance herself from him; she had mourned his brothers too bitterly to wish to repeat that particular grief. Yet she was proud of him and his courtly manners as well. Although the lords around him were drinking hard and laughing, Sanno watched his ale and spoke only quietly if at all.

Instead of ale, the young men of the queen’s fellowship had been drinking mead, or so Bevyan heard later, and rather a lot of it. All at once one of them shouted, someone else swore, a third oath rang out and stilled the general clamor. Bevyan rose to look just as the queen’s men leapt up, knocking over benches, to rush the lords at Anasyn’s table. Bevyan saw Anasyn jump free and grab a friend from behind just in time to keep the lad’s sword in its sheath.

The fight devolved into shoving and cursing. A table went over with the crack of breaking pottery. Someone swung a punch, someone else reeled back with a bloody nose, but the older lords were on their feet and running, calling out to one another like hounds coursing for game. They grabbed the combatants and dragged them apart, then for good measure dragged them clear out of the great hall.

“And what was all that about?” Lilli said.

“Oh, who knows?” Bevyan said with a shrug. “Men
will
take insult and so easily, too.”

And yet she saw Anasyn, hurrying across to her through the confusion and beckoning her to join him. With a gesture to Lilli to stay put, Bevyan headed to the curve of the wall and a little space free of gawkers, where he joined her. His right sleeve was soaked through with mead, as if someone had thrown a goblet-full.